


Oddly Enough, There’s Plenty of Dung at the Bottom of the Dung Heap

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [22]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's all very astute, I'm sure," Dr. Riley says about the time his eyes are starting to water from the strain, "but I'm more interested in what drove you out of group this morning."</p><p>It’s only about 20 seconds before he shifts uncomfortably under her unflinching stare.  "What did the instructors tell you?"</p><p>"Nothing I plan to share," she says, "without first hearing your side of the story."</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Try as I Might, I'm Caught Forever in the Spiral</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2326616/chapters/5124947">Risk</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Abuse is a complex thing, no matter where you're standing.

Loki wanders (okay, more like _rushes around_ ) aimlessly. He needs to find himself a goal - even if he has to pull something utterly temporary out of his rather tender ass - and stick to it; the place is littered with security cameras and, after basically going AWOL from DBT class, he knows he would be beyond naive to think no one is watching.

Watching _him_ , in particular.

He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, beyond the point where his pants would border on indecent were his shirt only a little shorter, and sighs. According to the sleek wood-and-stainless clock down the hall he has almost an hour left until lunch… two hours until his therapy session. He walks a little further, briefly contemplating the library, but his brain is all at once too full and too empty for _books_.

It's going to have to be the art studio.

"Do you mind checking me in," he asks Tyr, teetering on the threshold. "I forgot to sign up and I don't feel like walking all the way back to the main entrance." The front counter is only a minute away if he walks like he has been, and he knows Tyr knows he knows it, but Loki wants to get his hands busy _right now_ before anyone asks his mouth any questions.

Tyr smiles a slow, appraising grin. "It would be my pleasure," he says, "as long as you can promise me you're not here to wreak havoc upon my poor, defenseless pencils."

Loki feels his face heat. He's not quite sure if it's _for real_ or acting. "Deal," he tells Tyr, smirking in return as he reaches out to fist-bump the art supervisor's prosthetic hand. "Put me in clay and I promise I'll bury every last body.”

~

An hour, it seems, passes surprisingly quickly when you spend it molding small, defenseless things with your flesh-and-blood hands and then _smashing the living fuck_ out of them.

By the time the evidence is all back in the tub, and the cool water that sluices over his hands and down the drain is no longer thick with silt, Loki feels a hundred times lighter.

"You look like a new man, my friend," Tyr calls out as Loki walks back towards the studio doorway.

"Thanks," Loki tells him, nodding towards the desk. "I owe you one."

Tyr snorts. "What you're selling, I'm not buying."

A thin little shiver runs down Loki's spine, but he manages a laugh just the same.

~

Lunch is a little harder. It's roast turkey, for no particular reason, and while it's nicely enough prepared considering this is an institutional kitchen something about it just doesn't _work_ for him. He gets it down, but it takes a lot of chewing and a lot of ginger ale... enough that Loki's bladder is already complaining when he first leaves the dining room.

He concedes; it's the only hope he has of concentrating during his time with Dr. Riley. "You're so fucked up," he tells his reflection in the mirror over the sink.

His eyes are big and dark. Not only is he fucked up; he's _fucked_ , too. There's no way Dr. Riley will miss the fact something's wrong before he's even had a chance to get himself settled.

~

_Deflect, deflect_. "Thor's having a hard time," he offers before she has time to start in with the questions. "It seems to just be dawning on him that some of what might have gone on between us isn't on the so-called level. I think being laid up is wearing him down," he adds conversationally. He folds his hands neatly atop his thighs and waits, smiling what he knows is a bland, pleasant little smile.

Dr. Riley taps her pencil against her pursed lips. The longer she studies him, the more her eyes narrow. He makes himself sit still.

Makes himself not look away.

It isn’t easy, any of it.

"That's all very astute, I'm sure," she finally offers about the time his eyes are starting to water from the strain, "and I don't doubt you are able to empathize nicely, but I'm more interested in what drove you out of group this morning."

He huffs. "Do I wear a marquee?"

"Sometimes," she tells him, cracking a small smile. "I'm patient. When you're ready to start talking, I'm happy to listen."

It’s only about 20 seconds before he shifts uncomfortably under her unflinching stare. "What did the instructors tell you?"

"Nothing I plan to share,” Dr. Riley says, “without first hearing your side of the story.”

That? That's really what does him in. She doesn't even _lie_. "Someone in class was sharing," he starts off. His voice is a little shaky. It's embarrassing. He fights _not_ to blush this time. "She started talking about how she'd been sexually abused by her brother when they were both- teens, I think. That wasn't what got to me, though," he continues quickly, and then he has to stop for a moment.

"It was how everyone else in the room murmured in sympathy." Loki has to put his fucking face in his fucking hands. "Like even in a roomful of goddamned certifiable nutjobs everyone knows the _worst_ thing your brother can do is fuck you." He sucks in a huge gulp of air. "Meanwhile, I _live_ for exactly that. I'm sitting there in class with my ass still burning from _my brother's_ big fingers and the taste of _my brother's_ jizz in the back of my throat."

He snuffs loudly and then coughs. “Sorry,” he offers, because he’s _so gross_. In every possible way.

“And the sole reason it was only his fingers was because _my brother_ is still recovering from that stupid broken rib.” Loki growls in frustration. “So, what does all this say about me, you ask,” he says, imitating her usual delivery even though Dr. Riley hasn’t said a thing since he started this little rant. “Pretty fucking revolting, I guess.” And then he looks right at her and blurts it out without really even meaning to: “This- is _this_ how I made him hit me?”

“Oh, Loki,” she says. She looks like she wishes she could scoot over and hug him.

He kind of wishes she would, actually. Not that he wouldn’t wriggle free if she tried.

She doesn’t, anyway.

“Your relationship with Thor is complicated,” she tells him. “I get that. But, no; you didn’t make your brother hit you.”

Loki shrugs. “It seems like- like I _have something_ my entire group would cheerfully beat out of me.” He makes himself speak evenly. “I know _I_ would.”

Dr. Riley looks at him a little oddly. “Do you think your association with your brother is something for which you should be punished?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits. He isn’t. “I’ve fucked his life up for him.”

“Do you think he sees it that way,” she asks. “Because I’m not sure he-.”

“No,” he says, cutting her off and then laughing as he tries to recover some sense of control. “Of course not. But, then again, he’s stupid.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talking only gets you so far, and then it gets you in trouble.

"Oh. Em. Gee." Loki yawns again, into his hands this time. "I seriously thought I was going to have to have someone kill me. Put me out of my fucking misery, I mean," he clarifies when Dr. Riley cocks an eyebrow at him. She has all her jewelry in today, even in the more obvious facial piercings she normally leaves empty. He wants to ask her about it - about what she has going on later, or what inspired her… if that’s the right word for it - but doesn't. "Holy dull."

"The topic didn't hook you," she asks as he yawns a third time and ends with a loud groan.

"It was my very least favorite," he grumbles. "Fucking affirmations. _The power of positive thinking_ ,” he mocks, aping the instructor. "Fuck positive thinking. Fuck _positive_."

"What bothers you so much about it," she asks.

"Nothing," he snaps. He’s not _bothered_. "It's just stupid. _Frou-frou New Age Shit_ , Odin always used to say, and for once in my long and pointless life I'm actually inclined to agree with him. I'm a special snowflake," he singsongs, brightly phony. "No snowflake is more special." He glares at Dr. Riley. "Fuck that. Fuck special."

She doesn’t react, not really. "What are you feeling," she just asks him, quietly.

"Feeling? I’m feeling fucking sick of talking about goddamned motherfucking positivity," he yells, and then realizes (far too late; he’s way off his game today) he's doing himself less than no favors by acting like an ass. "Sorry. I feel- um, frustrated. Frustrated because this is So. Boring."

Yeah, not really any better.

Dr. Riley just looks at him. And looks at him. Silently. "No," he asks, finally, his voice much softer now. "Not buying it?"

"Not for an instant," she confirms. "Let's try this again. Close your eyes and breathe for me. In for a count of five, out for a count of ten. Keep doing it until I stop you, okay? Go."

At first he has to count really fast. It's a struggle to calm himself and a struggle not to talk. Actually, even after several rounds when she finally does stop him, Loki is still struggling. "What are you feeling," she asks again. "Think about it for me this time."

"Disgusted," he says. "Doing affirmations makes me feel disgusted."

"Good," she offers, and he has to clench his teeth to keep from shrieking. Praise feels like being skinned alive right now. "Anything else?"

"Angry," he admits. Cold fury rises in his chest like a twisting flame. His hands are tightly fisted, too; when did _that_ happen? "Angry at- at everyone. At everything. _Why_ ," he asks when she sits waiting, "do I have to be all positive? I hate positive. I'm not sweetness and light. Why do I have to pretend to be?"

"You don't," she says, which surprises him. Kind of. "Affirmations can simply serve as an exercise in being more objective. Whether you feel up to admitting it or not, I know you do indeed think and feel complimentary things. About yourself, I mean. Complimentary _in your eyes_ ," she hastens to clarify as he frowns and starts to cut her off. “Do you know how you most easily access them?"

He should know; he can read that much in her smirky little expression. "Do tell," he snaps. "I can see you want to."

"Maybe later," she says mildly, waving the whole thing off with one lazy wrist-flick, but her eyes are still sparkling. "Let's take a minute or two to talk about Thor instead. Just to give you a break.” She stops and sets down her pencil. “Quick, tell me five things about your brother that prove he's smarter than you."

"As if," Loki huffs. "Just because he had that fancy _Juris Doctor_ after his father's name doesn't mean he's the smart one." He sits up straighter in his chair, shifting a little so he can talk with his hands. "He may look better on paper but _I'm_ the smarter one. I'm a fucking genius. Literally. In every sense," he points out, smirking at his own double entendre.

"He's more likable, maybe, and more wholesome… but I'm hella smarter. Frankly, I'm better looking, too. And I smell nicer," he adds, twisting a little and taking the opportunity to sniff his left pit while his arms are up and moving.

Something doesn’t feel right. "Why," he stops to ask, a little accusing. "Who's been telling you he's so much smarter?"

And then he stops flailing for a second to look at her, really look at her. She's fucking grinning.

"You asshole," he exclaims, but then he's laughing. Hard and crazy until he can't breathe.

She shrugs. "Sometimes a picture's worth a thousand words," she reminds him. "Seriously, though," she goes on, no longer smiling, "did that feel awful?”

It didn't. It felt good, dangerously good. "Mm," he hums. "Not really."

"Interesting," she says. "So it's not as simple as hating to think positively. Not even when it comes to yourself."

"Is that the Pee. Aitch. Dee. after _your_ name talking," he jabs, "because I'm not sure that makes _you_ smarter than I am either."

"No," she says, and her tone stops him short. "It's the addict."

_Oh._

“I’m sorry,” Loki tells her, and he really means it this time. “I can really be a jerk when I get going.”

“I wasn’t playing entirely fair,” she says.

“I needed to see your point,” he admits. “And I wasn’t. No harm, no foul. I get it.” He smiles, a little. “I still hate affirmations, though.”

“They’re kind of an acquired taste,” she agrees. “You’ll get there.”

Loki wriggles in his seat. “I actually am smarter than Thor, though,” he points out. “Just saying. Oh, and the cats like me more.”

“You’re not a bad person, Loki,” she says. The air in the room gets- heavier. Much heavier.

He swallows, with difficulty. “I’m not sure I buy the whole _good person who does bad things_ idea.” He takes a huge, fast breath and lets it out for a count of- eight. He makes it to eight. Nine is too much and ten isn’t happening. “Okay, you win,” he tells her. They’re back where they started, with his hands in front of his face and her eyebrow raised. “Thor has it in his head that I’m going to leave him,” he says in a big rush before he can change his mind. “I don’t know how to convince him otherwise.”

“Maybe,” she tells him, “convincing him isn’t your job.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki wants what he gets until he thinks he's gotten it and then he doesn't want it.
> 
> Or, the inside of Loki's head is going on and on without punctuation.

_Something is wrong_. Thor has been pretending it isn't ever since they left therapy, but he's not the liar Loki is and at times like this it really shows. He's a weird mix of overly solicitous and overly jumpy, neither of which is very like him. The whole thing sets Loki's teeth on edge.

Well, all of Loki, really; not _just_ the teeth.

~

They stop for dive mexican on the way home. It's almost what Loki wanted. But his brother tells him - and Thor’s not wrong, which is actually what makes the whole thing so frustrating – that they should stay and eat it _in_ said dive rather than getting it to go. "It will get all soggy," Thor protests when Loki grumbles.

The chips are nice and crisp, as are Thor's hard-shelled tacos. Loki's chiles rellenos are nice and soft and sloppy, just the way they should be. He eats the first one like he's rimming it, just because he can, but his brother is preoccupied and basically (okay, completely) ignores him.

It takes the last hint of fun out of everything.

Loki dispatches the other two in businesslike fashion. He blots his stinging lips on his napkin, then wipes his fingers off rather than sucking them.

It's not particularly effective.

It's not particularly enjoyable, either.

~

The short remaining drive home is tense. Loki is prickly; his brother is- distant. Odd.

"How was your day," Thor finally asks him, right out of nowhere.

 _It kind of sucked_ , Loki doesn't admit. It had, too; he'd tricked himself out in heavy black eyeliner and coat after coat of jet black mascara, mostly because he'd rolled out of bed feeling kind of _Eurotrash_ , and someone in group had called him a fucking faggot. Which, yeah... but he _so_ hadn't been in the mood to hear about it from some fat asshole, smack in the middle of more goddamned _affirmations_.

So, instead of just taking it for once (or kicking the guy, for that matter), Loki'd shot a hand up in the air and told the closest coach people were discriminating.

It had gotten him out of class.

It had also gotten him threatened in the lunchroom, over in the quiet, semi-hidden alcove where the clients drop off their trays.

More than frightening, the whole thing had been- depressing.

He'd opted not to share any of it with Dr. Riley. That, perhaps unsurprisingly, had turned out to be depressing as well.

So: Thor picking today to be sappy and maudlin? Regrettable timing, at best.

"It was fine," Loki lies. And then the last of his poor frayed rope slips through his hands. "Listen," he goes on. "Can we just try _not talking_ , maybe? Because I'm- kind of fucking sick of it."

"Um," Thor stalls, voice small and hurt. "Okay. If that's what you want."

It's _not_ what he wants. Loki wants to fight. He wants to screech and claw, to feel his brother's fingers tight around his throat. To get slapped, maybe... hard, across the face, enough to snap his head around and leave his ears ringing. He wants blood: Thor's in the little rolls of skin caught under each polished nail; his own trickling from a nostril or an ear. Nothing hospital-worthy, just a good old-fashioned knocking around that ends with cut lips and black eyes.

Instead, Thor is- _caring_. Soft. Patient.

_Leaving._

His brother has to be leaving. Nothing else makes sense. Thor is going to _make nice_ one last time, catching him out and building a good, guilt-deflecting argument, and then - when Loki can only melt down in exchange - his brother will leave him in heap like last week's rotting garbage.

Except for how, if that's what's going down, Loki has a point of his own to make.

~

As soon as he's inside the apartment he storms off to the bedroom, scattering cats and strewing outerwear. The bedroom door slams beautifully; the glass balcony door is almost as loud. And when he gets outside he fucking howls, with all the volume he can generate, until his ears buzz and his throat feels like he's swallowed glass.

It’s very satisfying, in a hollow, martyred sort of way… until right about the point Thor shows up uninvited to join him on the balcony.

~

“How many times do we have to have this conversation,” Loki yells. It’s far too late to turn back; at this point he is going out with a bang regardless. “Jesus, Thor” he snaps, even louder. “How fucking many?!”

Thor sighs. He’s not rising to the occasion, which is beyond disappointing. In fact, it’s frustrating as fuck. “At least once more, apparently,” he tells Loki, far too nicely. “Because, regardless of how frustrated you are, it seems we still aren’t understanding one another.”

Loki doesn’t _want_ to understand; he wants to _fight_. He shoves away from railing and drops onto the far chaise – the one closest to Sif’s apartment – with a resounding crash. “Fine,” he roars, again, and once again it isn’t. “Fine. What exactly am I not explaining?”

“You told Dr. Potts – Ginny - earlier that you liked me better when I was abusing you,” Thor recounts. “Is that really true?” He sits down, quite a bit more carefully than Loki had. His face looks sweetly worried; Loki wants to hit him. “Did you mean it like that? Like it sounds?”

“In a way,” Loki says flatly. He can’t look at his brother’s sappy fucking mug anymore. “Don’t trouble yourself over it,” he tells the street.

“Don’t you tell me what to think,” Thor snaps back at him. Loki smiles a little to himself. _Here we go_.

Of course, his excitement is premature, because his brother is _above all that_ these days.

“I’m sorry,” Thor tells him after maybe half a minute. Loki barely stifles a groan. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” his brother adds. “Please help me understand what you mean.”

 _Okay, fine_.

“As I’ve told you countless times,” Loki lectures, “I don’t like nice. I don’t like safe. I don’t like boring. I only like edgy and dangerous and not good for me.” He’s panting a little now; he does his best to push past it. “I don’t want a life where everything is soft and easy and where you’re constantly asking me _what do you want, Loki_ ,” he says, as nastily as he can, “and I’m stuck having to tell you, only to have you say _oh, no, brother, I can’t do that. It’s too naughty_.” He has to stop for a moment and- not collect himself, exactly, but... something. He’s going to do this if it kills him. “If that’s how things have to be, I don’t want- I don’t want to be part of it.”

He’s going to do it and _hope_ it kills him. _That’ll_ make his brother sorry.

Except it- it does something else instead. “Do you wish you were still out on the street, Loki,” Thor asks, softly. “Do you miss it? Do you wish I’d just left you alone?”

That catches him so off-guard he can’t control himself. He whips around and gapes, eyes wet and smarting. Thor can’t. No. This can’t be happening. It’s not _really_ what he wanted. He didn’t- he never thought he would really go too far. “Are you saying you’re going to- because- I ca-…,” He can’t get it out. “If you do- I- fuck, Thor.”

“What? No,” his brother exclaims. “I’m just asking, because sometimes it seems like you don’t want- this life. Our life. However you want to put it.”

Loki wilts, all the fight drained away. His eyes are streaming. “I can’t go back to that,” he says, wet and clogged. “I would die.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Thor corrects, a little too gently. “It just- sometimes it sounds like you hate it here. Like you don’t want to be with me and are only putting up with it because- because I made you. Because I _make_ you.”

 _Oh_ , Loki thinks, when what his brother is saying finally sinks in. Slightly.

~

For a long, long time they just sit there breathing over and over into the night air. Neither of them talks, neither of them moves. Getting his head together is going to take a lot more energy than Loki can summon just now. “I don’t want to go back,” he rasps, eventually. “And I’m not sorry you got me out. Or that I’m here with you now.” He takes another deep breath, and then another. “I… I’m just afraid I’m going to disappear, you know?” He wipes his face on his arm. “I don’t want to turn into _Tame Loki_ ,” he admits, because he hates the idea of that more than- more than _almost_ anything.

“I don’t think you could ever be tame,” Thor assures him, after a painfully long silence. His brother is crying now. “You- your getting healthy- it hasn’t changed who you are. Me- me not hitting you and not choking you and- and-,” Thor goes on, “that hasn’t changed who you are either. We’re still just us, Loki. Really.”

When his brother reaches for him, Loki’s body leaves his mind behind and just _goes_. They curl up together, beautiful and broken. He honestly can’t tell if he’s flying apart or being made whole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't beat 'em, er, join 'em.

"Be right there," Loki calls from the bedroom as he hears the splash of the shower starting. "Don't use all the hot water." He dives behind the bed, whips the box out from underneath the frame, and rummages frantically through the toys in search of just the right massage oil.

He's still full to overflowing with strain and with _feelings_ , and - if his brother is no longer willing to fight it out of him - they're just going to have to find another outlet.

Gotcha! "Ah, _there_ you are," he tells the smooth little bottle aloud. Loki brings it to his nose and takes a long sniff; it smells like vanilla, and nutmeg, and underneath all of that are hints of- of something faintly exotic.

More important than that, even, is the way this particular oil is especially viscous. In his experience it stays thick and slippery quite nicely, even well above body temperature.

So, yeah, it should be perfect.

~

Back in the bathroom he does try his best to be subtle - hiding the oil discretely alongside the tub, for example, and not lunging right in to attack his brother – but Loki's _Thor flag_ is already flying well above half mast. Not that he cares, really; he just can't tolerate any more freaking out and _maybe leaving_. Not tonight. Not when all he wants (besides the fight he isn't getting) is his brother's big, rough hands on his dick and Thor's cock up his- yeah, exactly.

~

He blinks slowly, letting the water bouncing off the tiled wall sprinkle his face and trickle down his cheeks. It’s warm on his back. He’s melting.

Thor had been a little skittish about really making out when Loki’d first climbed in and joined him under the spray.

Loki has circumvented the problem by taking the matter into his own- hands. Hands and mouth, actually. No, not like _that_ , although not thanks to any lack of _wanting_ ; instead he has one hand looped loosely around Thor's wrist while he deftly suckles his brother's fingers.

Because if he's going to get his way, it seems, he's going to have to earn it. Loki lets his eyelids droop until he can just see the blurry shape of Thor's hand through his own wet lashes and then sucks harder, working his tongue back and forth and then threading it between his brother’s long fingers.

Picturing sucking Thor off helps him stay focused. He even moans a little, without quite planning to. When his brother pulls both fingers gently free, reluctance and lust warring for control, Loki simply shifts his grip and tackles Thor’s big, warm, water-slicked thumb instead.

~

"Do you have any idea how fucking hot you are?" His brother’s voice is rough, not solely from their earlier arguing.

Loki glances up for a moment, still making an effort to move slowly. "Oh, probably," he agrees, mouthing at Thor's thumb. "But don't let that stop you from telling me anyway." He lets his eyes slip closed again. When his brother hums, he sucks a little harder.

Thor drags his hand free and leans in to kiss Loki on the mouth. He tries for _chaste_ but only succeeds momentarily; Loki opens wide and snakes a warm, pointy tongue between his teeth, and his good behavior is all over.

Loki _likes_ his brother _all over_.

One of Thor’s hands drags up his slippery back and the other fists into his wet, tangled hair. The two of them kiss long and hard enough that it's difficult to tell whose mouth is whose.

Eventually Loki twists the wrong way and Thor's teeth sink into his lip; it hurts, a lot, and the gasp it elicits is completely involuntary. But even as his brother rocks back, eyes searching his face, Loki tastes blood and it's fucking _glorious_. He levers himself in, as close to Thor as he can possibly get, and grinds his sore mouth against his brother's.

Thank the waterlogged, horny baby jesus, Thor swallows down whatever he was going to say and responds in (perfect, perfect) kind.

They kiss hungrily, writhing and squirming and pawing at each other. Loki’s hand, the one that’s not clawing at his brother’s chest, squeaks against the tile. He straddles Thor’s muscular thigh and humps it frantically, utterly lost in the heat and the sensation and the wet squelching.

Lost, that is, until Thor takes on water and starts to choke and splutter.

"Sorry," his brother squawks, turning a little to cough into the shower curtain. "I feel like I need a snorkel."

Loki nuzzles Thor’s neck and laughs. And then nips a little, because his brother’s neck is supple and warm and right there for the taking.

Thor coughs again, twice, and clears his throat. "So," he rasps, “if I remember correctly, we were talking about how hot you are." He drags his thumb along the edge of Loki's jaw, forwards and back, and then shudders. His expression morphs quickly to- to lost. To far, far away.

_Fuck_.

"What," Loki whispers. "Baby?” He gives Thor a little shake. “Wherever you just went,” he tells his brother, “let’s just say it doesn't look like it's _off to bask in the full force of my awesome hotness_." He squints a little, trying to get a read on his brother’s too-close-for-focusing face.

"Sorry," Thor offers. "My mind wandered. It won't happen again.” He sounds _off_ somehow, but he does ask “are you up for more," as Loki licks his palm.

"Mm," Loki says. He turns the lick into a gentle bite. "I am. And so, it seems," - he shifts off of Thor’s thigh and slides their dicks together; his brother is just as hard as he is, apologies and weirdness not withstanding - "are you." He bites harder into the meaty part of Thor’s hand, at the base of the thumb. "Go on,” he says, panting a little. “Prove to me just how hot you think I am."

~

Talking turns to kissing turns to splashy, squirmy wrestling. Before long they – a few bruises the worse for wear; his knees are going to be purple for a week – are down in the tub itself, Thor’s back against the angled end and Loki doing his best to straddle his brother’s hips.

Maneuvering for the oil takes more work than he’d intended. “I hate lube in the bathtub,” he explains as Thor looks at him, puzzled. “It washes right off. If I wanted to use _nothing at all_ , I would. But I don’t. Not today,” he goes on. He’s babbling. “Hand, please. I think you know what to do from here,” he tells Thor after pouring a nice big glug into his brother’s waiting palm. “Don’t just lie there… get to it.”

Thor does as he’s told, for once. Loki has to stop him before the slide of his big fingers gets too easy.

He does want to feel the burn when his brother fucks him, after all.

~

“Just like that.” Loki has his hands back up on the wall and his knees digging into Thor’s ribs. He can feel every last inch of his brother’s dick. It hurts _just enough_ , the sweet kind of hurt he would die for, and he’s _thisclose_ already. “Right there. Mm.” He slides down the wall and kisses Thor messily. “Oh fuck, yes,” he groans, because he really is so very very close, “right there.”

_Right there_.

~

He watches his own come melt into the water, like cream into a cheap cup of coffee.

It’s fascinating.

~

Getting out of the tub isn’t quite as joyous an occasion, though. He’s sore everywhere, probably even more so than a fight would have left him.

“Ugh,” Thor complains as well, rolling his own head back and forth. “I think I’m too old for this shit.”

Loki laughs, a little closer to groaning in agony than he has any intention of admitting. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not,” he lies.

_Fucking hell_. But it’s all good. It’s all beautiful.

~

He’s almost asleep, cozy and sated and aching and curled against his brother’s warm, smooth side, when Thor starts in: “Can we talk about something?”

Loki props himself awkwardly up on an elbow. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

His brother’s fingers trail along his jawline. “I know I’ve said it before,” Thor says softly, “but I want you to know I- I’m so sorry about this.” Warm fingers trace his scars. “If there was any way I could undo it,” his brother tells him sadly, “I promise you I would. And don’t say it’s okay,” Thor adds as he starts to scoff, “because it isn’t.”

“Thank you,” Loki whispers as he ducks out from behind his brother’s hand. He kisses Thor yet again, slow and a little sad now. “Apology accepted,” he promises, and then can’t quite stifle a yawn. “Excuse me. We can talk about it more another time, if you want, but right now I’m dying.” He kisses Thor one last time. “Bed,” he points out, gesturing around them. “Sleep.”

His brother nods.

Loki studies Thor’s face for a moment. His brother looks a little too close to tears, but Loki knows he just can’t stay awake to cope with it. “Sure,” he says, and that’s the last thing he remembers.


End file.
